This text may be freely distributed, subject to the following
restrictions:
Text provided by Perseus Digital Library. Original version available for viewing and download at http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/.
C. PLINIUS SECUNDUS TO HIS FRIEND TITUS VESPASIAN.
THIS treatise on Natural History, a novel work in Roman
literature, which I have just completed, I have taken the
liberty to dedicate to you, most gracious[1] Emperor, an appellation peculiarly suitable to you, while, on account of his
age, that of great is more appropriate to your Father;-
"For still thou ne'er wouldst quite despise
The trifles that I write[2];"
if I may be allowed to shelter myself under the example of
Catullus, my fellow-countryman[3], a military term, which you
well understand. For he, as you know, when his napkins
had been changed[4], expressed himself a little harshly, from
his anxiety to show his friendship for his dear little Veranius
and Fabius[5]. At the same time this my importunity may
effect, what you complained of my not having done in another too forward epistle of mine; it will put upon record,
and let all the world know, with what kindness you exercise
the imperial dignity. You, who have had the honour of a
triumph, and of the censorship, have been six times consul,
and have shared in the tribunate; and, what is still more
honourable, whilst you held them in conjunction with your
Father, you have presided over the Equestrian order, and
been the Prefect of the Prtorians[6]: all this you have done
for the service of the Republic, and, at the same time, have
regarded me as a fellow-soldier and a messmate. Nor has
the extent of your prosperity produced any change in you,
except that it has given you the power of doing good to the
utmost of your wishes. And whilst all these circumstances
increase the veneration which other persons feel for you,
with respect to myself, they have made me so bold, as to wish
to become more familiar. You must, therefore, place this
to your own account, and blame yourself for any fault of this
kind that I may commit.
But, although I have laid aside my blushes[7], I have not
gained my object; for you still awe me, and keep me at a
distance, by the majesty of your understanding. In no one
does the force of eloquence and of tribunitian oratory blaze
out more powerfully! With what glowing language do you
thunder forth the praises of your Father! How dearly do
you love your Brother! How admirable is your talent for
poetry! What a fertility of genius do you possess, so as to
enable you to imitate your Brother[8]! But who is there that
is bold enough to form an estimate on these points, if he is
to be judged by you, and, more especially, if you are challenged to do so? For the case of those who merely publish
their works is very different from that of those who expressly dedicate them to you. In the former case I might
say, Emperor! why do you read these things? They are
written only for the common people, for farmers or mechanics, or for those who have nothing else to do; why do you
trouble yourself with them? Indeed, when I undertook
this work, I did not expect that you would sit in judgement
upon me[9]; I considered your situation much too elevated
for you to descend to such an office. Besides, we possess the
right of openly rejecting the opinion of men of learning.
M. Tullius himself, whose genius is beyond all competition,
uses this privilege; and, remarkable as it may appear, employs an
advocate in his own defence:-"I do not write for
very learned people; I do not wish my works to be read by
Manius Persius, but by Junius Congus[10]." And if Lucilius,
who first introduced the satirical style[11], applied such a remark to himself, and if Cicero thought proper to borrow it,
and that more especially in his treatise "De Republica,"
how much reason have I to do so, who have such a judge to
defend myself against! And by this dedication I have deprived myself of the benefit of challenge[12]; for it is a very
different thing whether a person has a judge given him by
lot, or whether he voluntarily selects one; and we always
make more preparation for an invited guest, than for one
that comes in unexpectedly.
When the candidates for office, during the heat of the
canvass, deposited the fine[13] in the hands of Cato, that determined opposer of bribery, rejoicing as he did in his being
rejected from what he considered to be foolish honours, they
professed to do this out of respect to his integrity; the
greatest glory which a man could attain. It was on this
occasion that Cicero uttered the noble ejaculation, "How
happy are you, Marcus Porcius, of whom no one dares to
ask what is dishonourable[14]!" When L. Scipio Asiaticus
appealed to the tribunes, among whom was Gracchus, he
expressed full confidence that he should obtain an acquittal,
even from a judge who was his enemy. Hence it follows,
that he who appoints his own judge must absolutely submit
to the decision; this choice is therefore termed an appeal[15].
I am well aware, that, placed as you are in the highest
station, and gifted with the most splendid eloquence and
the most accomplished mind, even those who come to pay
their respects to you, do it with a kind of veneration: on
this account I ought to be careful that what is dedicated to
you should be worthy of you. But the country people, and,
indeed, some whole nations offer milk to the Gods[16], and those
who cannot procure frankincense substitute in its place salted
cakes; for the Gods are not dissatisfied when they are worshiped by every one to the best of his ability. But my
temerity will appear the greater by the consideration, that
these volumes, which I dedicate to you, are of such inferior
importance. For they do not admit of the display of genius,
nor, indeed, is mine one of the highest order; they admit of
no excursions, nor orations, nor discussions, nor of any wonderful adventures, nor any variety of transactions, nor, from
the barrenness of the matter, of anything particularly pleasant in the narration, or agreeable to the reader. The na-
ture of things, and life as it actually exists, are described in
them; and often the lowest department of it; so that, in
very many cases, I am obliged to use rude and foreign, or
even barbarous terms, and these often require to be introduced by a kind of preface. And, besides this, my road is
not a beaten track, nor one which the mind is much disposed
to travel over. There is no one among us who has ever attempted it, nor is there any one individual among the Greeks
who has treated of all the topics. Most of us seek for nothing but amusement in our studies, while others are fond
of subjects that are of excessive subtilty, and completely involved in obscurity. My object is to treat of all those things
which the Greeks include in the Encyclopdia[17], which, however, are either not generally known or are rendered dubious
from our ingenious conceits. And there are other matters
which many writers have given so much in detail that we
quite loathe them. It is, indeed, no easy task to give novelty
to what is old, and authority to what is new; brightness to
what is become tarnished, and light to what is obscure; to
render what is slighted acceptable, and what is doubtful
worthy of our confidence; to give to all a natural manner,
and to each its peculiar nature. It is sufficiently honourable and glorious to have been willing even to make the attempt, although it should prove unsuccessful. And, indeed,
I am of opinion, that the studies of those are more especially
worthy of our regard, who, after having overcome all difficulties, prefer the useful office of assisting others to the
mere gratification of giving pleasure; and this is what I have
already done in some of my former works. I confess it surprises me, that T. Livius, so celebrated an author as he is,
in one of the books of his history of the city from its origin,
should begin with this remark, "I have now obtained a sufficient reputation, so that I might put an end to my work,
did not my restless mind require to be supported by employment[18]." Certainly he ought to have composed this work,
not for his own glory, but for that of the Roman name, and
of the people who were the conquerors of all other nations.
It would have been more meritorious to have persevered in
his labours from his love of the work, than from the gratification which it afforded himself, and to have accomplished
it, not for his own sake, but for that of the Roman people.
I have included in thirty-six[19] books 20,000 topics, all
worthy of attention, (for, as Domitius Piso[20] says, we ought
to make not merely books, but valuable collections,) gained
by the perusal of about 2000 volumes, of which a few only
are in the hands of the studious, on account of the obscurity
of the subjects, procured by the careful perusal of 100 select
authors[21]; and to these I have made considerable additions
of things, which were either not known to my predecessors,
or which have been lately discovered. Nor can I doubt
but that there still remain many things which I have omitted;
for I am a mere mortal, and one that has many occupations.
I have, therefore, been obliged to compose this work at interrupted intervals, indeed during the night, so that you will
find that I have not been idle even during this period. The
day I devote to you, exactly portioning out my sleep to the
necessity of my health, and contenting myself with this reward, that
while we are musing[22] on these subjects (according to the remark of
Varro), we are adding to the length of
our lives; for life properly consists in being awake.
In consideration of these circumstances and these difficulties, I dare promise nothing; but you have done me the
most essential service in permitting me to dedicate my work
to you. Nor does this merely give a sanction to it, but it
determines its value; for things are often conceived to be of
great value, solely because they are consecrated in temples.
I have given a full account of all your family-your
Father, yourself, and your Brother, in a history of our own
times, beginning where Aufidius Bassus concludes[23]. You
will ask, Where is it? It has been long completed and its
accuracy confirmed[24]; but I have determined to commit the
charge of it to my heirs, lest I should have been suspected,
during my lifetime, of having been unduly influenced by
ambition. By this means I confer an obligation on those
who occupy the same ground with myself; and also on
posterity, who, I am aware, will contend with me, as I have
done with my predecessors.
You may judge of my taste from my having inserted, in
the beginning of my book, the names of the authors that I
have consulted. For I consider it to be courteous and to
indicate an ingenuous modesty, to acknowledge the sources
whence we have derived assistance, and not to act as most
of those have done whom I have examined. For I must
inform you, that in comparing various authors with each
other, I have discovered, that some of the most grave and of
the latest writers have transcribed, word for word, from
former works, without making any acknowledgement; not
avowedly rivalling them, in the manner of Virgil, or with
the candour of Cicero, who, in his treatise "De Republica[25],"
professes to coincide in opinion with Plato, and in his Essay
on Consolation for his Daughter, says that he follows
Crantor, and, in his Offices[26], Pancius; volumes, which, as you
well know, ought not merely to be always in our hands, but
to be learned by heart. For it is indeed the mark of a perverted mind
and a bad disposition, to prefer being caught in
a theft to returning what we have borrowed, especially
when we have acquired capital, by usurious interest[27].
The Greeks were wonderfully happy in their titles. One
work they called
as a honeycomb; another
so that you might expect to get even a draught of pigeon's
milk from it[28]. Then they have their Flowers, their Muses,
Magazines, Manuals, Gardens, Pictures, and Sketches[29], all
of them titles for which a man might be tempted even to
forfeit his bail. But when you enter upon the works, O
ye Gods and Goddesses! how full of emptiness! Our duller
countrymen have merely their Antiquities, or their Examples,
or their Arts. I think one of the most humorous of them has
his Nocturnal Studies[30], a term employed by Bibaculus; a name
which he richly deserved[31]. Varro, indeed, is not much behind him,
when he calls one of his satires A Trick and a Half,
and another Turning the Tables[32]. Diodorus was the first
among the Greeks who laid aside this trifling manner and
named his history The Library[33]. Apion, the grammarian,
indeed-he whom Tiberius Csar called the Trumpeter of
the World, but would rather seem to be the Bell of the
Town-crier[34],-supposed that every one to whom he inscribed
any work would thence acquire immortality. I do not regret
not having given my work a more fanciful title.
That I may not, however, appear to inveigh so completely
against the Greeks, I should wish to be considered under
the same point of view with those inventors of the arts of
painting and sculpture, of whom you will find an account
in these volumes, whose works, although they are so perfect
that we are never satisfied with admiring them, are inscribed
with a temporary title[35], such as "Apelles, or Polycletus, was
doing this;" implying that the work was only commenced
and still imperfect, and that the artist might benefit by the
criticisms that were made on it and alter any part that
required it, if he had not been prevented by death. It is
also a great mark of their modesty, that they inscribed their
works as if they were the last which they had executed, and
as still in hand at the time of their death. I think there are
but three works of art which are inscribed positively with
the words "such a one executed this;" of these I shall give
an account in the proper place. In these cases it appears,
that the artist felt the most perfect satisfaction with his work,
and hence these pieces have excited the envy of every one.
I, indeed, freely admit, that much may be added to my
works; not only to this, but to all which I have published.
By this admission I hope to escape from the carping critics[36],
and I have the more reason to say this, because I hear
that there are certain Stoics and Logicians[37], and also Epicureans
(from the Grammarians[38] I expected as much), who
are big with something against the little work I published
on Grammar[39]; and that they have been carrying these
abortions for ten years together-a longer pregnancy this
than the elephant's[40]. But I well know, that even a woman
once wrote against Theophrastus, a man so eminent for his
eloquence that he obtained his name, which signifies the
Divine speaker[41], and that from this circumstance originated
the proverb of choosing a tree to hang oneself[42].
I cannot refrain from quoting the words of Cato the censor,
which are so pertinent to this point. It appears from them,
that even Cato, who wrote commentaries on military discipline[43], and who had learned the military art under Africanus,
or rather under
triumph from him), that
of such as caught at reputation for themselves by detracting
from the merits of others. And what does he say in his
book? "I know, that when I shall publish what I have written, there will be many who will do all they can to depreciate it, and, especially, such as are themselves void of
all merit; but I let their harangues glide by me." Nor was
the remark of Plancus[45] a bad one, when Asinius Pollio[46] was
said to be preparing an oration against him, which was to
be published either by himself or his children, after the
death of Plancus, in order that he might not be able to
answer it: "It is only ghosts that fight with the dead."
This gave such a blow to the oration, that in the opinion of
the learned generally, nothing was ever thought more scandalous. Feeling myself, therefore, secure against these vile
slanderers[47], a name elegantly composed by
their slanderous and vile disposition (for what other object
have they, but to wrangle and breed quarrels?), I will proceed with my projected work.
And because the public good requires that you should be
spared as much as possible from all trouble, I have subjoined
to this epistle the contents of each of the following books[48],
and have used my best endeavours to prevent your being
obliged to read them all through. And this, which was
done for your benefit, will also serve the same purpose for
others, so that any one may search for what he wishes, and
may know where to find it. This has been already done
among us by Valerius Soranus, in his work which he entitled "On Mysteries[49]."
The 1st book is the Preface of the Work, dedicated to
Titus Vespasian Csar.
The 2nd is on the World, the Elements, and the Heavenly
Bodies[50].
The 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th books are on Geography, in
which is contained an account of the situation of the
different countries, the inhabitants, the seas, towns,
harbours, mountains, rivers, and dimensions, and the
various tribes, some of which still exist and others have
disappeared.
The 7th is on Man, and the Inventions of Man.
The 8th on the various kinds of Land Animals.
The 9th on Aquatic Animals.
The 10th on the various kinds of Birds.
The 11th on Insects.
The 12th on Odoriferous Plants.
The 13th on Exotic Trees.
The 14th on Vines.
The 15th on Fruit Trees.
The 16th on Forest Trees.
The 17th on Plants raised in nurseries or gardens.
The 18th on the nature of Fruits and the Cerealia, and
the pursuits of the Husbandman.
The 19th on Flax, Broom[51], and Gardening.
The 20th on the Cultivated Plants that are proper for
food and for medicine.
The 21st on Flowers and Plants that are used for making
Garlands.
The 22nd on Garlands, and Medicines made from Plants.
The 23rd on Medicines made from Wine and from cultivated Trees.
The 24th on Medicines made from Forest Trees.
The 25th on Medicines made from Wild Plants.
The 26th on New Diseases, and Medicines made, for certain Diseases, from Plants.
The 27th on some other Plants and Medicines.
The 28th on Medicines procured from Man and from large
Animals.
The 29th on Medical Authors, and on Medicines from
other Animals.
The 30th on Magic, and Medicines for certain parts of the
Body.
The 31st on Medicines from Aquatic Animals.
The 32nd on the other properties of Aquatic Animals.
The 33rd on Gold and Silver.
The 34th on Copper and Lead, and the workers of Copper.
The 35th on Painting, Colours, and Painters.
The 36th on Marbles and Stones.
The 37th on Gems.
THE history of the birds[1] follows next, the very largest of
which, and indeed almost approaching to the nature of quad-
rupeds, is the ostrich[2] of Africa or[3] thiopia. This bird exceeds
in height a man sitting on horseback, and can surpass him in
swiftness, as wings have been given to aid it in running; in
other respects ostriches cannot be considered as birds, and do
not raise themselves from the earth. They have cloven talons,
very similar to the hoof[4] of the stag; with these they fight, and
they also employ them in seizing stones for the purpose of
throwing[5] at those who pursue them. They have the marvellous property of being able to digest[6] every substance without
distinction, but their stupidity[7] is no less remarkable; for although the rest of their body is so large, they imagine, when
they have thrust their head and neck into a bush, that the whole
of the body is concealed. Their eggs[8] are prized on account
of their large size, and are employed as vessels for certain purposes, while the feathers of the wing and tail are used as ornaments for the crest and helmet of the warrior.
thiopia and India, more especially, produce[1] birds of diversified plumage, and such as quite surpass all description. In
the front rank of these is the phnix,[2] that famous bird of
Arabia; though I am not quite sure that its existence is not
all a fable. It is said that there is only one in existence in the
whole world, and that that one has not been seen very often.
We are told that this bird is of the size of an eagle,[3] and
has a brilliant golden plumage around the neck, while the rest
of the body is of a purple colour; except the tail, which is
azure, with long feathers intermingled of a roseate hue; the
throat is adorned with a crest, and the head with a tuft of
feathers. The first Roman who described this bird, and who
has done so with the greatest exactness, was the senator Manilius, so famous for his learning; which he owed, too, to the
instructions of no teacher. He tells us that no person has
ever seen this bird eat, that in Arabia it is looked upon as
sacred to the sun, that it lives five hundred and forty years,[4]
that when it becomes old it builds a nest of cassia and sprigs
of incense, which it fills with perfumes, and then lays its body
down upon them to die; that from its bones and marrow there
springs at first a sort of small worm, which in time changes
into a little bird: that the first thing that it does is to perform
the obsequies of its predecessor, and to carry the nest entire
to the city of the Sun near Panchaia,[5] and there deposit it
upon the altar of that divinity.
The same Manilius states also, that the revolution of the
great year [6] is completed with the life of this bird, and that
then a new cycle comes round again with the same characteristics as the former one, in the seasons and the appearance of
the stars; and he says that this begins about mid-day of the
day on which the sun enters the sign of Aries. He also tells
us that when he wrote to the above effect, in the consulship[7]
of P. Licinius and Cneius Cornelius, it was the two hundred
and fifteenth year of the said revolution. Cornelius Valerianus
says that the phnix took its flight from Arabia into Egypt
in the consulship[8] of Q. Plautius and Sextus Papinius. This
bird was brought to Rome in the censorship of the Emperor
Claudius, being the year from the building of the City, 800,
and it was exposed to public view in the Comitium.[9] This
fact is attested by the public Annals, but there is no one that
doubts that it was a fictitious phnix only.
Of all the birds with which we are acquainted, the eagle is
looked upon as the most noble, and the most remarkable for
its strength. There are six[1] different kinds; the one called
"melantos"[2] by the Greeks, and "valeria" in our language,
the least in size of them all, but the most remarkable for its
strength, is of a blackish colour. It is the only one among
all, the eagles that feeds its young; for the others, as we shall
mention just now, drive them away; it is the only one too
that has neither cry nor murmur; it is an inhabitant of the
mountains. The second kind is the pygargus,[3] an inhabitant
of the cities and plains, and distinguished by the whiteness
of its tail. The third is the morphnos,[4] which Homer also
calls the "perenos," while others, again, call it the "plangus"
and the "anataria;" it is the second in size and strength, and
dwells in the vicinity of lakes. Phemono, who was styled
the "daughter of Apollo," has stated that this eagle has teeth,
but that it has neither voice nor tongue; she says also that it
is the blackest of all the eagles, and has a longer tail than the
rest; Bus is of the same opinion. This eagle has the instinct
to break the shell of the tortoise by letting it fall from aloft,
a circumstance which caused the death of the poet schylus.
An oracle, it is said, had predicted his death on that day by
the fall of a house, upon which he took the precaution of
trusting himself only under the canopy of the heavens.
The fourth kind of eagle is the "percnopterus,"[5] also called
the "oripelargus;"[6] it has much the appearance of the vulture,
with remarkably small wings, while the rest of the body is
larger than the others; but it is of a timid and degenerate
nature, so much so, that even a raven can beat it. It is always
famishing and ravenous, and has a plaintive murmuring cry.
It is the only one among the eagles that will carry off the
dead carcase; the others settle on the spot where they have
killed their prey. The character of this species causes the
fifth one to be known by the distinctive name of "gnesios,"[7]
as being the genuine eagle, and the only one of untainted
lineage; it is of moderate size, of rather reddish colour, and
rarely to be met with. The halitus[8] is the last, and is remarkable for its bright and piercing eye. It poises itself aloft,
and the moment it catches sight of a fish in the sea below,
pounces headlong upon it, and cleaving the water with its
breast, carries off its prey.
The eagle which we have mentioned as forming the third
species, pursues the aquatic birds in the vicinity of standing
waters: in order to make their escape they plunge into the
water every now and then, until at length they are overtaken
by lassitude and sleep, upon which the eagle immediately seizes
them. The contest that takes place is really a sight worthy
to be seen. The bird makes for the shore to seek a refuge,
and especially if there should happen to be a bed of reeds
there; while in the meantime the eagle endeavours to drive it
away with repeated blows of its wings, and tumbles into the
water in its attempts to seize it. While it is standing on the
shore its shadow is seen by the bird, which immediately dives
beneath, and then making its way in an opposite direction,
emerges at some point at which it thinks it is the least likely
to be looked for. This is the reason why these birds swim
in flocks, for when in large numbers they are in no danger
from the enemy; as by dashing up the spray with their wings
they blind him.
Again, it often happens that the eagle is not able to carry
the bird aloft on account of its weight, and in consequence
they both of them sink together. The halitus, and this
one only, beats its young ones while in an unfledged state,
with its wings, and forces[9] them from time to time to look
steadily upon the rays of the sun; and if it sees either of
them wink, or even its eye water, it throws it headlong out
of the nest, as being spurious and degenerate, while, on the
other hand, it rears the one whose gaze remains fixed and
steady. The halitus[10] is not a species of itself, but is an
eagle of mixed breed: hence their produce are of the species
known as the ossifrage, from which again is produced the
smaller vulture; while this in its turn produces the large
vulture, which, however, is quite barren.
Some writers add to the above a seventh kind, which they
call the "bearded"[11] eagle; the Tuscans, however, call it the
ossifrage.
The first three and the fifth class of eagles employ in the
construction of their aerie the stone atites,[1] by some known
as "gangites;" which is employed also for many remedial
purposes, and is proof against the action of fire. This stone
has the quality also, in a manner, of being pregnant, for when
shaken, another stone is heard to rattle within, just as though
it were enclosed in its womb; it has no medical properties,
however, except immediately after it has been taken from the
nest.
Eagles build among rocks and trees; they lay three eggs,
and generally hatch but two young ones, though occasionally
as many as three have been seen. Being weary of the trouble
of rearing both, they drive one of them from the nest: for
just at this time the providential foresight of Nature has denied
them a sufficiency of food, thereby using due precaution that
the young of all the other animals should not become their
prey. During this period, also, their talons become reversed,
and their feathers grow white from continued hunger, so that
it is not to be wondered at that they take a dislike to their
young. The ossifrage, however, a kindred species, takes charge
of the young ones thus rejected, and rears them with its own;
but the parent bird still pursues them with hostility, even
when grown up, and drives them away, as being its rivals in
rapine. And indeed, under any circumstances, one pair of
eagles requires a very considerable space of ground to forage
over, in order to find sufficient sustenance; for which reason
it is that they mark out by boundaries their respective allotments, and seek their prey in succession to one another. They
do not immediately carry off their prey, but first deposit it on
the ground, and it is only after they have tested its weight
that they fly away with it.
They die, not of old age, nor yet of sickness, or of hunger;
but the upper part of the beak grows to such an extent, and
becomes so curved, that they are unable to open it. They
take the wing, and begin upon the labours of the chase at
mid-day; sitting in idleness during the hours of the morning,
until such time as the places[2] of public resort are filled with
people. The feathers of the eagle, if mixed with those of
other birds, will consume them.[3] It is said that this is the
only bird that has never been killed by lightning; hence it is,
that usage has pronounced it to be the armour-Bearer of Jove.
Caius Marius, in his second consulship, assigned the eagle
exclusively to the Roman legions. Before that period it had
only held the first rank, there being four others as well, the
wolf, the minotaur, the horse, and the wild boar, each of which
preceded a single division.[1] Some few years before his time
it had begun to be the custom to carry the eagle only into
battle, the other standards being left behind in camp; Marius,
however, abolished the rest of them entirely. Since then, it
has been remarked that hardly ever has a Roman legion
encamped for the winter, without a pair of eagles making
their appearance at the spot.
The first and second species of eagle, not only prey upon
the whole of the smaller quadrupeds, but will attack deer
even. Rolling in the dust, the eagle covers its body all over
with it, and then perching on the antlers of the animal, shakes
the dust into its eyes, while at the same time it beats it on the
head with its wings, until the creature at last precipitates itself
down the rocks. Nor, indeed, is this one enemy sufficient for
it; it has still more terrible combats with the dragon,[2] and
the issue is much more doubtful, although the battle is fought
in the air. The dragon seeks the eggs of the eagle with a
mischievous avidity; while the eagle, in return, carries it off
whenever it happens to see it; upon these occasions, the dragon
coils itself about the wings of the bird in multiplied folds,
until at last they fall to the earth together.
There is a very famous story about an eagle at the city of
Sestos. Having been reared by a little girl, it used to testify
its gratitude for her kindness, first by bringing her birds, and
in due time various kinds of prey: at last she died, upon which
the bird threw itself on the lighted pile, and was consumed
with her body. In memory of this event, the inhabitants
raised upon the spot what they called an heroic monument,[1]
in honour of Jupiter and the damsel, the eagle being a bird
consecrated to that divinity.
Of the vultures, the black ones[1] are the strongest. No
person has yet found a vulture's nest: hence it is that there
are some who have thought, though erroneously, that these
birds come from the opposite hemisphere.[2] The fact is, that
they build their nest upon the very highest rocks; their young
ones, indeed, are often to be seen, being generally two in number.
Umbricius, the most skilful among the aruspices of our time,
says that the vulture lays thirteen eggs,[3] and that with one of
these eggs[4] it purifies the others and its nest, and then throws
it away: he states also that they hover about for three[5] days,
over the spot where carcases are about to be found.
There has been considerable argument among the Roman
augurs about the birds known as the "sangualis" and the
"immusulus." Some persons are of opinion that the immusulus is the young of the vulture, and the sangualis that of
the ossifrage. Massurius says,[1] that the sangualis is the same
as the ossifrage, and that the immusulus is the young of the
eagle, before the tail begins to turn white. Some persons
have asserted that these birds have not been seen at Rome
since the time of the augur Mucius; for my part, I think it
much more likely, that, amid that general heedlessness as to
all knowledge, which has of late prevailed, no notice has been
taken of them.
We find no less than sixteen[1] kinds of hawks mentioned;
among these are the githus, which is lame[2] of one leg, and
is looked upon as the most favourable omen for the augurs on
the occasion of a marriage, or in matters connected with property in the shape of cattle: the triorchis also, so called
from the number of its testicles,[3] and to which Phemono has
assigned the first rank in augury. This last is by the Romans
known as the "buteo;" indeed there is a family[4] that has
taken its surname from it, from the circumstance of this bird
having given a favourable omen by settling upon the ship of
one of them when he held a command. The Greeks call one
kind[5] "epileus;" the only one, indeed, that is seen at all seasons
of the year, the others taking their departure in the winter.
The various kinds are distinguished by the avidity with
which they seize their prey; for while some will only pounce
on a bird while on the ground, others will only seize it while
hovering round the trees, others, again, while it is perched aloft,
and others while it is flying in mid air. Hence it is that
pigeons, on seeing them, are aware of the nature of the danger
to which they are exposed, and either settle on the ground or
else fly upwards, instinctively protecting themselves by taking
due precautions against their natural propensities. The hawks
of the whole of Masssylia, breed in Cerne,[6] an island of
Africa, lying in the ocean; and none of the kinds that are
accustomed to those parts will breed anywhere else.
In the part of Thrace which lies above Amphipolis, men[1]
and hawks go in pursuit of prey, in a sort of partnership as it
were; for while the men drive the birds from out of the woods
and the reed-Beds, the hawks bring them down as they fly;
and after they have taken the game, the fowlers share it with
them. It has been said, that when sent aloft, they will
pick[2] out the birds that are wanted, and that when the opportune moment for taking them has come, they invite the fowler
to seize the opportunity by their cries and their peculiar mode
of flying. The sea-wolves, too, in the Palus Motis, do something of a very similar nature; but if they do not receive their
fair share from the fishermen, they will tear their nets as they
lie extended.[3] Hawks will not[4] eat the heart of a bird. The
night-hawk is called cybindis;[5] it is rarely found, even in the
woods, and in the day-time its sight is not good; it wages war
to the death with the eagle, and they are often to be found
clasped in each other's talons.
The cuckoo seems to be but another form of the hawk,[1]
which at a certain season of the year changes its shape; it
being the fact that during this period no other hawks are to be
seen, except, perhaps, for a few days only; the cuckoo, too,
itself is only seen for a short period in the summer, and does
not make its appearance after. It is the only one among the
hawks that has not hooked talons; neither is it like the rest
of them in the head, or, indeed, in any other respect, except
the colour only, while in the beak it bears a stronger resemblance to the pigeon. In addition to this, it is devoured by the
hawk, if they chance at any time to meet; this being the only
one among the whole race of birds that is preyed upon by those
of its own kind. It changes its voice also with its appearance,
comes out in the spring, and goes into retirement at the rising
of the Dog-star. It always lays its eggs in the nest of another
bird, and that of the ring-dove[2] more especially,-mostly a single
egg, a thing that is the case with no other bird; sometimes however, but very rarely, it is known to lay two. It is supposed,
that the reason for its thus substituting its young ones, is the
fact that it is aware[3] how greatly it is hated by all the other
birds; for even the very smallest of them will attack it.
Hence it is, that it thinks its own race will stand no chance
of being perpetuated unless it contrives to deceive them, and for
this reason builds no nest of its own: and besides this, it is
a very timid animal. In the meantime, the female bird, sitting
on her nest, is rearing a supposititious and spurious progeny;
while the young cuckoo, which is naturally craving and greedy,
snatches away all the food from the other young ones, and by
so doing grows plump and sleek, and quite gains the affections
of his foster-mother; who takes a great pleasure in his fine
appearance, and is quite surprised that she has become the
mother of so handsome an offspring. In comparison with him,
she discards her own young as so many strangers, until at last,
when the young cuckoo is now able to take the wing, he
finishes by devouring[4] her. For sweetness of the flesh, there
is not a bird in existence to be compared to the cuckoo at this
season.
The kite, which belongs to the same genus, is distinguished
from the rest of the hawks by its larger size. It has been remarked of this bird, extremely ravenous as it is, and always
craving, that it has never been known to seize any food either
from among funereal oblations or from the altar of Jupiter at
Olympia; nor yet, in fact, does it ever seize any of the consecrated viands from the hands of those who are carrying them;
except where some misfortune is presaged for the town that is
offering the sacrifice. These birds seem to have taught man
the art of steering, from the motion of the tail, Nature pointing
out by their movements in the air the method required for
navigating the deep. Kites also disappear during the winter
months, but do not take their departure before the swallow.
It is said, also, that after the summer solstice they are troubled
with the gout.
The first distinctive characteristic among birds is that which
bears reference more especially to their feet: they have either
hooked talons, or else toes, or else, again, they belong to the
web-footed class, geese for instance, and most of the aquatic
birds. Those which have hooked talons feed, for the most
part, upon nothing but flesh.
Crows, again, have another kind of food. Nuts being too
hard for their beak to break, the crow flies to a great height,
and then lets them fall again and again upon the stones or tiles
beneath, until at last the shell is cracked, after which the bird
is able to open them. This is a bird with a very ill-omened
garrulity, though it has been highly praised by some.[1] It is
observed, that from the rising of the constellation Arcturus
until the arrival of the swallow, it is but rarely to be seen
about the sacred groves and temples of Minerva; in some
places, indeed, not at all, Athens for instance.[2] In addition to
these facts, it is the only one that continues to feed its young
for some time after they have begun to fly. The crow is most
inauspicious at the time of incubation, or, in other words, just
after the summer solstice.
All the other birds of the same kind drive their young ones
from their nest, and compel them to fly; the raven, for instance, which not only feeds on flesh, but even drives its young,
when able to fly, to a still greater distance. Hence it is that
in small hamlets there are never more than two[1] pairs to
be found; and in the neighbourhood of Crannon, in Thessaly,
never more than one, the parents always quitting the spot to
give place to their offspring. There have been some differences
observed between this and the bird last mentioned. Ravens
breed before the summer solstice, and continue in bad health for
sixty days-Being afflicted with a continual thirst more particularly-Before the ripening of the fig in autumn; while, on the
other hand, the crow is attacked by disease after that period.
The raven lays, at most, but five eggs. It is a vulgar belief,
that they couple, or else lay, by means of the beak; and that,
consequently, if a pregnant woman happens to eat a raven's
egg, she will be delivered by the mouth. It is also believed, that if the eggs are even so much as brought beneath
the roof, a difficult labour will be the consequence. Aristotle
denies it, and assures us in all good faith that there is no more
truth in this than in the same story about the ibis in Egypt;
he says that it is nothing else but that same sort of billing that
is so often seen in pigeons.[2] Ravens are the only birds that
seem to have any comprehension of the meaning of their
auspices; for when the guests of Medus[3] were assassinated,
they all took their departure from Peloponnesus and the region
of Attica. They are of the very worst omen when they swallow their voice, as if they were being choked.
The birds of the night also have crooked talons, such as the
owlet,[1] the horned owl, and the screech-owl, for instance; the
sight of all of which is defective in the day-time. The horned
owl is especially funereal, and is greatly abhorred in all auspices
of a public nature: it inhabits deserted places, and not only
desolate spots, but those of a frightful and inaccessible nature:
the monster of the night, its voice is heard, not with any tuneful note, but emitting a sort of shriek. Hence it is that it is
looked upon as a direful omen to see it in a city, or even so much
as in the day-time. I know, however, for a fact, that it is
not portentous of evil when it settles on the top of a private
house. It cannot fly whither it wishes in a straight line, but
is always carried along by a sidelong movement. A horned
owl entered the very sanctuary of the Capitol, in the consulship of Sextus Palpelius Hister and L. Pedanius; in consequence of which, Rome was purified on the nones[2] of March
in that year.
An inauspicious bird also is that known as the "incendiary;"[1]
on account of which, we find in the Annals, the City has
had to be repeatedly purified; as, for instance, in the consulship of L. Cassius and C. Marius,[2] in which year also it was
purified, in consequence of a horned owl being seen. What
kind of bird this incendiary bird was, we do not find stated,
nor is it known by tradition. Some persons explain the term
this way; they say that the name "incendiary" was applied
to every bird that was seen carrying a burning coal from
the pyre, or altar; while others, again, call such a bird a
"spinturnix;[3] though I never yet found any person who
said that he knew what kind of bird this spinturnix was.
(14.) I find also that the people of our time are ignorant
what bird it was that was called by the ancients a "clivia."
Some persons say that it was a clamatory, others, again, that it
was a prohibitory, bird. We also find a bird mentioned
by Nigidius as the "subis," which breaks the eggs of the
eagle.
(15.) In addition to the above, there are many other kinds
that are described in the Etruscan ritual, but which no one now
living has ever seen. It is surprising that these birds are no
longer in existence, since we find that even those kinds abound,
among which the gluttony of man commits such ravages.
Among foreigners, a person called Hylas is thought to have
written the best treatise on the subject of augury. He
informs us that the owlet, the horned owl, the woodpecker,
which makes holes in trees, the trygon, and the crow, are produced from the egg with the tail[1] first; for the egg, being
turned upside down through the weight of the head of the
chick, presents the wrong end to be warmed by the mother
as she sits upon it.
The owlet shows considerable shrewdness in its engagements with other birds; for when surrounded by too great a
number, it throws itself on its back, and so, resisting with its
feet, and rolling up its body into a mass, defends itself with
the beak and talons; until the hawk, attracted by a certain
natural affinity, comes to its assistance, and takes its share in
the combat. Nigidius says, that the incubation of the owlet
lasts sixty days, during the winter, and that it has nine different notes.
There are some small birds also, which have hooked talons;
the wood-pecker, for example, surnamed "of Mars," of considerable importance in the auspices. To this kind belong
the birds which make holes in trees, and climb stealthily up
them, like cats; mounting with the head upwards, they tap
against the bark, and learn by the sound whether or not their
food lies beneath; they are the only birds that hatch their
young in the hollows of trees. It is a common belief, that if a
shepherd drives a wedge into their holes, they apply a certain
kind of herb,[1] immediately upon which it falls out. Trebius
informs us that if a nail or wedge is driven with ever so much
force into a tree in which these birds have made their nest, it
will instantly fly out, the tree making a loud cracking noise
the moment that the bird has lighted upon the nail or wedge.
These birds have held the first rank in auguries, in Latium,
since the time of the king[2] who has given them their name.
One of the presages that was given by them, I cannot pass
over in silence. A woodpecker came and lighted upon the
head of lius Tubero, the City prator, when sitting on his
tribunal dispensing justice in the Forum, and showed such
tameness as to allow itself to be taken with the hand; upon
which the augurs declared that if it was let go, the state
was menaced with danger, but if killed, disaster would befall
the prtor; in an instant he tore the bird to pieces, and before
long the omen was fulfilled.[3]
Many birds of this kind feed also on acorns and fruit, but
only those which are not carnivorous, with the exception of
the kite; though when it feeds on anything but flesh, it is a
bird of ill omen.
The birds which have hooked talons are never gregarious;
each one seeks its prey by itself. They nearly all of them
soar to a great height, with the exception of the birds of the
night, and more especially those of larger size. They all have
large wings, and a small body; they walk with difficulty, and
rarely settle upon stones, being prevented from doing so by
the curved shape of their talons.
We shall now speak of the second class of birds, which is
divided into two kinds; those which give omens[1] by their note,
and those which afford presages by their flight. The variation of the note in the one, and the relative size in the other,
constitute the differences between them. These last, therefore,
shall be treated of first, and the peacock shall have precedence
of all the rest, as much for its singular beauty as its superior
instinct, and the vanity it displays.
When it hears itself praised, this bird spreads out its gorgeous colours, and especially if the sun happens to be shining
at the time, because then they are seen in all their radiance,
and to better advantage. At the same time, spreading out its
tail in the form of a shell, it throws the reflection upon the
other feathers, which shine all the more brilliantly when a
shadow is cast upon them; then at another moment it will
contract all the eyes[2] depicted upon its feathers in a single
mass, manifesting great delight in having them admired by
the spectator. The peacock loses its tail every year at the fall
of the leaf, and a new one shoots forth in its place at the
flower season; between these periods the bird is abashed and
moping, and seeks retired spots. The peacock lives twenty-five years, and begins to show its colours in the third. By
some authors it is stated that this bird is not only a vain creature, but of a spiteful disposition also, just in the same way
that they attribute bashfulness to the goose.[3] The characteristics, however, which they have thus ascribed to these birds,
appear to me to be utterly unfounded.
The orator Hortensius was the first Roman who had the
peacock killed for table; it was on the occasion of the banquet
given by him on his inauguration in the college of the priesthood. M. Aufidius Lurco[1] was the first who taught the art
of fattening them, about the time of the last war with the
Pirates. From this source of profit he acquired an income of
sixty thousand sesterces.[2]
Next after the peacock, the animal that acts as our watchman by night, and which Nature has produced for the purpose
of arousing mortals to their labours, and dispelling their slumbers, shows itself most actuated by feelings of vanity. The
cock knows how to distinguish the stars, and marks the
different periods of the day, every three hours, by his note.
These animals go to roost with the setting of the sun, and at
the fourth watch of the camp recall man to his cares and toils.
They do not allow the rising of the sun to creep upon us un-
awares, but by their note proclaim the coming day, and they
prelude their crowing by clapping their sides with their wings.
They exercise a rigorous sway over the other birds of their
kind, and, in every place where they are kept, hold the supreme
command. This, however, is only obtained after repeated
battles among themselves, as they are well aware that they
have weapons on their legs, produced for that very purpose, as
it were, and the contest often ends in the death of both the
combatants at the same moment. If, on the other hand, one
of them obtains the mastery, he instantly by his note proclaims
himself the conqueror, and testifies by his crowing that he has
been victorious; While his conquered opponent silently slinks
away, and, though with a very bad grace, submits to servitude.
And with equal pride does the throng of the poultry yard strut
along, with head uplifted and crest erect. These, too, are the
only ones among the winged race that repeatedly look up to
the heavens, with the tail, which in its drooping shape resembles that of a sickle, raised aloft: and so it is that these
birds inspire terror even in the lion,[1] the most courageous of
all animals.
Some of these birds, too, are reared for nothing but warfare
and perpetual combats, and have even shed a lustre thereby
on their native places, Rhodes and Tanagra. The next rank
is considered to belong to those of Melos[2] and Chalcis. Hence,
it is not without very good reason that the consular purple of
Rome pays these birds such singular honours. It is from the
feeding of these creatures that the omens[3] by fowls are derived; it is these that regulate[4] day by day the movements of
our magistrates, and open or shut to them their own houses,
as the case may be; it is these that give an impulse to the
fasces of the Roman magistracy, or withhold them; it is these
that command battles or forbid them, and furnish auspices for
victories to be gained in every part of the world. It is these
that hold supreme rule over those who are themselves the rulers
of the earth, and whose entrails and fibres are as pleasing to
the gods as the first spoils of victory. Their note, when heard
at an unusual hour or in the evening, has also its peculiar presages; for, on one occasion, by crowing the whole night through
for several nights, they presaged to the Boeotians that famous
victory[5] which they gained over the Lacedmonians; such,
in fact, being the interpretation that was put upon it by way
of prognostic, as this bird, when conquered, is never known to
crow.
When castrated, cocks cease to crow. This operation is
performed two different ways. Either the loins of the animal
are seared with red-hot iron, or else the lower part of the
legs; after which, the wound is covered up with potter's clay:
this way they are fattened much more easily. At Pergamus,[1]
there is every year a public show of fights of game-cocks, just
as in other places we have those of gladiators.
We find it stated in the Roman Annals, that in the[2] consulship of M. Lepidus and Q. Catulus a dung-hill cock spoke, at
the farm-house of Galerius; the only occasion, in fact, that I
know of.
The goose also keeps a vigilant guard; a fact which is well
attested by the defence of the Capitol, at a moment when, by
the silence of the dogs, the commonwealth had been betrayed:[1]
for which reason it is that the Censors always, the first thing
of all, attend to the farming-out of the feeding of the sacred
geese. What is still more, too, there is a love-story about this
animal. At gium one is said to have conceived a passion for
a beautiful boy, a native of Olenos,[2] and another for Glauce,
a damsel who was lute-player to King Ptolemy; for whom at
the same time a ram is said also to have conceived a passion.
One might almost be tempted to think that these creatures
have an appreciation of wisdom:[3] for it is said, that one of
them was the constant companion of the philosopher, Lacydes,
and would never leave him, either in public or when at the bath,
by night or by day.
Our people, however, are more wise; for they only esteem the
goose for the goodness of its liver.[1] When they are crammed,
this grows to a very large size, and on being taken from the
animal, is made still larger by being soaked in honeyed milk.[2]
And, indeed, it is not without good reason that it is matter of
debate who it was that first discovered so great a delicacy;
whether, in fact, it was Scipio Metellus, a man of consular
dignity, or M. Seius, a contemporary of his, and a Roman of
equestrian rank. However, a thing about which there is no
dispute, it was Messalinus Cotta, the son of the orator Messala,
who first discovered the art of roasting the webbed feet of the
goose, and of cooking them in a ragout with cocks' combs: for
I shall faithfully award each culinary palm to such as I shall
find deserving of it. It is a wonderful fact, in relation to
this bird, that it comes on foot all the way from the country
of the Morini[3] to Rome; those that are tired are placed in
the front rank, while the rest, taught by a natural instinct to
move in a compact body, drive them on.
A second income, too, is also to be derived from the feathers
of the white goose. In some places, this animal is plucked
twice a year, upon which the feathers quickly grow again.
Those are the softest which lie nearest to the body, and those
that come from Germany are the most esteemed: the geese
there are white, but of small size, and are called gant.[4] The
price paid for their feathers is five denarii per pound. It is
from this fruitful source that we have repeated charges brought
against the commanders of our auxiliaries, who are in the habit
of detaching whole cohorts from the posts where they ought
to be on guard, in pursuit of these birds: indeed, we have
come to such a pitch of effeminacy, that now-a-days, not even
the men can think of lying down without the aid of the goose's
feathers, by way of pillow.
The part of Syria which is called Commagene, has discovered
another invention also; the fat of the goose[1] is enclosed with
some cinnamon in a brazen vessel, and then covered with a
thick layer of snow. Under the influence of the excessive
cold, it becomes macerated, and fit for use as a medicament,
remarkable for its properties: from the country which produces
it, it is known to us as "Commagenum."[2]
To the goose genus belong also the chenalopex,[1] and the
cheneros,[2] a little smaller than the common goose, and which
forms the most exquisite of all the dainties that Britannia provides for the table. The tetrao[3] is remarkable for the lustre
of its plumage, and its extreme darkness, while the eyelids are
of a scarlet colour. Another species[4] of this last bird exceeds
the vulture in size, and is of a similar colour to it; and, indeed,
there is no bird, with the exception of the ostrich, the body of
which is of a greater weight; for to such a size does it grow,
that it becomes incapable of moving, and allows itself to be
taken on the ground. The Alps and the regions of the North
produce these birds; but when kept in aviaries, they lose their
fine flavour, and by retaining their breath, will die of mere
vexation. Next to these in size are the birds which in
Spain they call the "tarda,"[5] and in Greece the "otis:" they
are looked upon however as very inferior food; the marrow,[6]
when disengaged from the bones, immediately emits a most
noisome smell.
By the departure of the cranes, which, as we have already
stated,[1] were in the habit of waging war with them, the nation
of the Pygmies now enjoys a respite. The tracts over which
they travel must be immense, if we only consider that they
come all the way from the Eastern Sea.[2] These birds agree by
common consent at what moment they shall set out, fly aloft
to look out afar, select a leader for them to follow, and have
sentinels duly posted in the rear, which relieve each other by
turns, utter loud cries, and with their voice keep the whole
flight in proper array. During the night, also, they place sentinels on guard, each of which holds a little stone in its claw: if
the bird should happen to fall asleep, the claw becomes relaxed,
and the stone falls to the ground, and so convicts it of neglect.
The rest sleep in the meanwhile, with the head beneath the
wing, standing first on one leg and then on the other: the
leader looks out, with neck erect, and gives warning when
required. These birds, when tamed, are very frolicsome, and
even when alone will describe a sort of circle, as they move
along, with their clumsy gait.
It is a well-known fact, that these birds, when about to fly
over the Euxine, first of all repair to the narrowest part of it,
that lies between the two[3] Promontories of Criumetopon and
Carambis, and then ballast themselves with coarse sand. When
they have arrived midway in the passage, they throw away the
stones from out of their claws, and, as soon as they reach the
mainland, discharge the sand by the throat.
Cornelius Nepos, who died in the reign of the late Emperor
Augustus, after stating that thrushes had been fattened for the
first time shortly before that period, has added that storks were
more esteemed as food than cranes: whereas at the present
day, this last bird is one of those that are held in the very
highest esteem, while no one will so much as touch the other.
Up to the present time it has not been ascertained from
what place the storks come, or whither they go when they
leave us. There can be no doubt but that, like the cranes,
they come from a very great distance, the cranes being our
winter, the storks our summer, guests. When about to take
their departure, the storks assemble at a stated place, and are
particularly careful that all shall attend, so that not one of
their kind may be left behind, with the exception of such as
may be in captivity or tamed; and then on a certain day they
set out, as though by some law they were directed to do so. No
one has ever yet seen a flight of cranes taking their departure,
although they have been often observed preparing to depart;
and in the same way, too, we never see them arrive, but only
when they have arrived; both their departure as well as their
arrival take place in the night. Although, too, we see them
flying about in all directions, it is still supposed that they
never arrive at any other time but in the night. Pythonos-
come[1] is the name given to some vast plains of Asia, where,
as they assemble together, they keep up a gabbling noise, and
tear to pieces the one that happens to arrive the last; after
which they take their departure. It has been remarked that
after the ides of August,[2] they are never by any accident to be
seen there.
There are some writers who assure us that the stork has no
tongue. So highly are they esteemed for their utility in destroying serpents, that in Thessaly, it was a capital crime for
any one to kill a stork, and by the laws the same penalty was
inflicted for it as for homicide.
Geese, and swans also, travel in a similar manner, but then
they are seen to take their flight. The flocks, forming a point,
move along with great impetus, much, indeed, after the manner
of our Liburnian beaked galleys; and it is by doing so that
they are enabled to cleave the air more easily than if they
presented to it a broad front. The flight gradually enlarges
in the rear, much in the form of a wedge, presenting a vast
surface to the breeze, as it impels them onward; those that
follow place their necks on those that go before, while the
leading birds, as they become weary, fall to the rear. Storks
return to their former nests, and the young, in their turn, support
their parents when old. It is stated that at the moment of
the swan's death, it gives utterance to a mournful song;[1] but
this is an error, in my opinion, at least I have tested the truth
of the story on several occasions. These birds will eat the
flesh of one another.
Having spoken of the emigration of these birds over sea and
land, I cannot allow myself to defer mentioning some other
birds of smaller size, which have the same natural instinct:
although in the case of those which I have already mentioned,
their very size and strength would almost seem to invite them
to such habits. The quail, which always arrives among us
even before the crane, is a small bird, and when it has once
arrived, more generally keeps to the ground than flies aloft.
These birds fly also in a similar manner to those I have already
spoken of, and not without considerable danger to mariners,
when they come near the surface of the earth: for it often
happens that they settle on the sails of a ship, and that too
always in the night: the consequence of which is, that the
vessel often sinks. These birds pursue their course along a
tract of country with certain resting-places. When the south
wind is blowing, they will not fly, as that wind is always
humid, and apt to weigh them down. Still, however, it is an
object with them to get a breeze to assist them in their flight,
the body being so light, and their strength so very limited:
hence it is that we hear them make that murmuring noise as
they fly, it being extorted from them by fatigue. It is for
this reason also, that they take to flight more especially when
the north wind is blowing, having the ortygometra[1] for their
leader. The first of them that approaches the earth is generally snapped up by the hawk. When they are about to return from these parts, they always invite other birds to join
their company, and the glottis, otus, and cychramus, yielding
to their persuasions, take their departure along with them.
The glottis[2] protrudes a tongue of remarkable length, from
which circumstance it derives its name: at first it is quite
pleased with the journey, and sets out with the greatest ardour;
very soon, however, when it begins to feel the fatigues of the
flight, it is overtaken by regret, while at the same time it is
equally as 10th to return alone, as to accompany the others. Its
travels, however, never last more than a single day, for at the
very first resting-place they come to, it deserts: here too it
finds other birds, which have been left behind in a similar
manner in the preceding year. The same takes place with
other birds day after day. The cychramus,[3] however, is much
more persevering, and is quite in a hurry to arrive at the land
which is its destination: hence it is that it arouses the quails
in the night, and reminds them that they ought to be on the
road.
The otus is a smaller bird than the horned owl, though
larger than the owlet; it has feathers projecting like ears,
whence its name. Some persons call it in the Latin language
the "asio;"[4] in general it is a bird fond of mimicking, a great
parasite, and, in some measure, a dancer as well. Like the
owlet, it is taken without any difficulty; for while one person
occupies its attention, another goes behind, and catches it.
If the wind, by its contrary blasts, should begin to prevent
the onward progress of the flight, the birds immediately take
up small stones, or else fill their throats with sand, and so
contrive to ballast themselves as they fly. The seeds of a
certain venomous plant[5] are most highly esteemed by the
quails as food; for which reason it is that they have been banished from our tables; in addition to which, a great repugnance
is manifested to eating their flesh, on account of the epilepsy,[6]
to which alone of all animals, with the exception of man, the
quail is subject.
The swallow, the only bird that is carnivorous among those
which have not hooked talons, takes its departure also during
the winter months; but it only goes to neighbouring countries,
seeking sunny retreats there on the mountain sides; sometimes they have been found in such spots bare and quite unfledged. This bird, it is said, will not enter a house in Thebes,
because that city has been captured so frequently; nor will it
approach the country of the Bizy, on account of the crimes
committed there by Tereus.[1] Ccina[2] of Volaterr, a member
of the equestrian order, and the owner of several chariots, used
to have swallows caught, and then carried them with him to
Rome. Upon gaining a victory, he would send the news
by them to his friends; for after staining them the colour[3] of
the party that had gained the day, he would let them go,
immediately upon which they would make their way to the
nests they had previously occupied. Fabius Pictor also relates,
in his Annals, that when a Roman garrison was being besieged
by the Ligurians, a swallow which had been taken from its
young ones was brought to him, inorder that he might give
them notice, by the number of knots on a string tied to its
leg, on what day succour would arrive, and a sortie might be
made with advantage.
In a similar manner also, the blackbird, the thrush, and the
starling take their departure to neighbouring countries; but
they do not lose their feathers, nor yet conceal themselves, as
they are often to be seen in places where they seek their food
during the winter: hence it is that in winter, more especially,
the thrush is so often to be seen in Germany. It is, however,
a well-ascertained fact, that the turtle-dove conceals itself, and
loses its feathers. The ring-dove, also, takes its departure:
and with these too, it is a matter of doubt whither they go.
It is a peculiarity of the starling to fly in troops, as it were,
and then to wheel round in a globular mass like a ball, the
central troop acting as a pivot for the rest. Swallows are the
only birds that have a sinuous flight of remarkable velocity;
for which reason it is that they are not exposed to the attacks
of other birds of prey: these too, in fine, are the only birds that
take their food solely on the wing.
The time during which birds show themselves differs very
considerably. Some remain with us all the year round, the
pigeon, for instance; some for six months, such as the swallow;
and some, again, for three months only, as the thrush, the turtledove, and those which take their departure the moment they
have reared their young, the witwall[1] and the hoopoe, for
instance.
There are some authors who say that every year certain
birds[1] fly from thiopia to Ilium, and have a combat at the
tomb of Memnon there; from which circumstance they have
received from them the name of Memnonides, or birds of
Memnon. Cremutius states it also as a fact, ascertained by
himself, that they do the same every fifth year in thiopia,
around the palace of Memnon.
In a similar manner also, the birds called meleagrides[1] fight
in Botia. They are a species of African poultry, having a
hump on the back, which is covered with a mottled plumage.
These are the latest among the foreign birds that have been
received at our tables, on account of their disagreeable smell.
The tomb, however, of Meleager has rendered them famous.
Those birds are called seleucides, which are sent by Jupiter
at the prayers offered up to him by the inhabitants of Mount
Casius,[1] when the locusts are ravaging their crops of corn.
Whence they[2] come, or whither they go, has never yet been
ascertained, as, in fact, they are never to be seen but when the
people stand in need of their aid.
The Egyptians also invoke their ibis against the incursions
of serpents; and the people of Elis, their god Myiagros,[1]
when the vast multitudes of flies are bringing pestilence
among them; the flies die immediately the propitiatory sacrifice has been made to this god.
With reference to the departure of birds, the owlet, too, is
said to lie concealed for a few days. No birds of this last kind
are to be found in the island of Crete, and if any are imported
thither, they immediately die. Indeed, this is a remarkable
distinction made by Nature; for she denies to certain places,
as it were, certain kinds of fruits and shrubs, and of animals as
well; it is singular that when introduced into these localities
they will be no longer productive, but die immediately they
are thus transplanted. What can it be that is thus fatal to
the increase of one particular species, or whence this envy
manifested against them by Nature? What, too, are the limits
that have been marked out for the birds on the face of the
earth?
Rhodes[1] possesses no eagles. In Italy beyond the Padus,
there is, near the Alps, a lake known by the name of Larius,
beautifully situate amid a country covered with shrubs; and
yet this lake is never visited by storks, nor, indeed, are they
ever known to come within eight miles of it; while, on the
other hand, in the neighbouring territory of the Insubres[2]
there are immense flocks of magpies and jackdaws, the only[3]
bird that is guilty of stealing gold and silver, a very singular
propensity.
It is said that in the territory of Tarentum, the woodpecker
of Mars is never found. It is only lately too, and that but
very rarely, that various kinds of pies have begun to be seen
in the districts that lie between the Apennines and the City;
birds which are known by the name of "vari,"[4] and are remarkable for the length of the tail. It is a peculiarity of
this bird, that it becomes bald every year at the time of sowing
rape. The partridge does not fly beyond the frontiers of
Botia, into Attica; nor does any bird, in the island[5] in the
Euxine in which Achilles was buried, enter the temple there
consecrated to him. In the territory of Fiden, in the vicinity
of the City, the storks have no young nor do they build nests: but
vast numbers of ringdoves arrive from beyond sea every year
in the district of Volaterr. At Rome, neither flies nor dogs
ever enter the temple of Hercules in the Cattle Market. There
are numerous other instances of a similar nature in reference
to all kinds of animals, which from time to time I feel myself prompted by prudent considerations to omit, lest I should
only weary the reader. Theophrastus, for example, relates
that even pigeons, as well as peacocks and ravens, have been
introduced from other parts into Asia,[6] as also croaking frogs[7]
into Cyrenaica.
There is another remarkable fact too, relative to the birds
which give omens by their note; they generally change their
colour and voice at a certain season of the year, and suddenly
become quite altered in appearance; a thing that, among the
larger birds, happens with the crane only, which grows black
in its old age. From black, the blackbird changes to a reddish colour, sings in summer, chatters in winter, and about
the summer solstice loses its voice; when a year old, the beak
also assumes the appearance of ivory; this, however, is the case
only with the male. In the summer, the thrush is mottled
about the neck, but in the winter it becomes of one uniform
colour all over.
The song of the nightingale is to be heard, without intermission, for fifteen days and nights, continuously,[1] when the
foliage is thickening, as it bursts from the bud; a bird which
deserves our admiration in no slight degree. First of all,
what a powerful voice in so small a body! its note, how long,
and how well sustained! And then, too, it is the only bird
the notes of which are modulated in accordance with the strict
rules of musical science.[2] At one moment, as it sustains its
breath, it will prolong its note, and then at another, will vary
it with different inflexions; then, again, it will break into
distinct chirrups, or pour forth an endless series of roulades.
Then it will warble to itself, while taking breath, or else disguise its voice in an instant; while sometimes, again, it will
twitter to itself, now with a full note, now with a grave, now
again sharp, now with a broken note, and now with a prolonged
one. Sometimes, again, when it thinks fit, it will break
out into quavers, and will run through, in succession, alto,
tenor, and bass: in a word, in so tiny a throat is to be found
all the melody that the ingenuity of man has ever discovered
through the medium of the invention of the most exquisite
flute: so much so, that there can be no doubt it was an infallible presage of his future sweetness as a poet, when one of
these creatures perched and sang on the infant lips of the
poet Stesichorus.
That there may remain no doubt that there is a certain
degree of art in its performances, we may here remark that
every bird has a number of notes peculiar to itself; for they
do not, all of them, have the same, but each, certain melodies
of its own. They vie with one another, and the spirit
with which they contend is evident to all. The one that
is vanquished, often dies in the contest, and will rather yield
its life than its song. The younger birds are listening in the
meantime, and receive the lesson in song from which they
are to profit. The learner hearkens with the greatest attention,
and repeats what it has heard, and then they are silent by
turns; this is understood to be the correction of an error on the
part of the scholar, and a sort of reproof, as it were, on the
part of the teacher. Hence it is that nightingales fetch as
high a price as slaves, and, indeed, sometimes more than used
formerly to be paid for a man in a suit of armour.
I know that on one occasion six thousand sesterces[3] were
paid for a nightingale, a white one it is true, a thing that is
hardly ever to be seen, to be made a present of to Agrippina, the
wife of the Emperor Claudius. A nightingale has been often
seen that will sing at command, and take alternate parts with
the music that accompanies it; men, too, have been found who
could imitate its note with such exactness, that it would be
impossible to tell the difference, by merely putting water in a
reed held crosswise, and then blowing into it, a languette being
first inserted, for the purpose of breaking the sound and rendering it more shrill.[4] But these modulations, so clever and so
artistic, begin gradually to cease at the end of the fifteen days;
not that you can say, however, that the bird is either fatigued
or tired of singing; but, as the heat increases, its voice becomes
altogether changed, and possesses no longer either modulation or variety of note. Its colour, too, becomes changed, and
at last, throughout the winter, it totally disappears. The tongue
of the nightingale is not pointed at the tip, as in other birds.
It lays at the beginning of the spring, six eggs at the most.
The change is different that takes place in the ficedula,[1]
for this bird changes its shape as well as its colour. "Ficedula" is the name by which it is called in autumn, but not
after that period; for then it is called "melancoryphus."[2] In
the same manner, too, the erithacus[3] of the winter is the
"phnicurus" of the summer. The hoopoe also, according
to the poet schylus, changes its form; it is a bird that feeds
upon filth[4] of all kinds, and is remarkable for its twisted topknot, which it can contract or elevate at pleasure along the top
of the head.
The cenanthe,[1] too, is a bird that has stated days for its re-
treat. At the rising of Sirius it conceals itself, and at the
setting of that star comes forth from its retreat: and this it
does, a most singular thing, exactly upon both those days.
The chlorion,[2] also, the body of which is yellow all over, is
not seen in the winter, but comes out about the summer solstice.
(30.) The blackbird is found in the vicinity of Cyllene, in
Arcadia, with white[3] plumage; a thing that is the case nowhere else. The ibis, in the neighbourhood of Pelusium[4] only
is black, while in all other places it is white.
The birds that have a note, with the exception of those previously mentioned,[1] do not by any chance produce their young
before the vernal or after the autumnal equinox. As to the
broods produced before the summer solstice, it is very doubtful
if they will survive, but those hatched after it thrive well.
The sea-mew also builds its nest in rocks, and the diver[1] in
trees as well. These birds produce three at the very most; the
sea-mew in summer, the diver at the beginning of spring.
The form of the nest built by the halcyon reminds me also
of the instinctive cleverness displayed by other birds; and, indeed, in no respect is the ingenuity of birds more deserving of
our admiration. The swallow builds its nest of mud, and
strengthens it with straws. If mud happens to fail, it soaks
itself with a quantity of water, which it then shakes from off
its feathers into the dust. It lines the inside of the nest with
soft feathers and wool, to keep the eggs warm, and in order
that the nest may not be hard and rough to its young when
hatched. It divides the food among its offspring with the
most rigid justice, giving it first to one and then to another.
With a remarkable notion of cleanliness, it throws out of the
nest the ordure of the young ones, and when they have grown
a little older, teaches them how to turn round, and let it fall
outside of the nest.
There is another[1] kind of swallow, also, that frequents the
fields and the country; its nest is of a different shape, though
of the same materials, but it rarely builds it against houses.
The nest has its mouth turned straight upwards, and the entrance
to it is long and narrow, while the body is very capacious. It
is quite wonderful what skill is displayed in the formation of
it, for the purpose of concealing the young ones, and of presenting a soft surface for them to lie upon. At the Heracleotic
Mouth of the Nile in Egypt, the swallows present an insuperable obstacle to the inroads of that river, in the embankment which is formed by their nests in one continuous line,
nearly a stadium in length; a thing that could not possibly
have been effected by the agency of man. In Egypt, too,
near the city of Coptos, there is an island sacred to Isis. In
the early days of spring, the swallows strengthen the angular corner of this island with chaff and straw, thus fortifying it in order that the river may not sweep it away. This
work they persevere in for three days and nights together, with
such unremitting labour, that it is a well-known fact that
many of them die with their exertions. This, too, is a toil
which recurs regularly for them every year.
There is, again, a third kind[2] of swallow, which makes holes
in the banks of rivers, to serve for its nest. The young of
these birds, reduced to ashes, are a good specific against mortal
maladies of the throat, and tend to cure many other diseases of
the human body. These birds do not build nests, and they take
care to migrate a good many days before, if it so happens that
the rise of the river is about to reach their holes.
Belonging to the genus of birds known as the " vitiparr,"
there is one[1] whose nest is formed of dried moss,[2] and is in
shape so exactly like a ball, that it is impossible to discover
the mouth of it. The bird, also, that is known as the acanthyllis,[3] makes its nest of a similar shape, and interweaves it
with pieces of flax. The nest of one of the woodpeckers, very
much like a cup in shape, is suspended by a twig from the end
of the branch of a tree, so that no quadruped may be able to
reach it. It is strongly asserted, that the witwall[4] sleeps
suspended by its feet, because it fancies that by doing so it is
in greater safety. A thing, indeed, that is well-known of them
all, is the fact that, in a spirit of foresight, they select the projecting branches of trees that are sufficiently strong, for the
purpose of supporting their nests, and then arch them over to
protect them from the rain, or else shield them by means of the
thickness of the foliage.
In Arabia there is a bird known as the "cinnamolgus."[5]
It builds its nest with sprigs of cinnamon; and the natives
knock them down with arrows loaded with lead, in order to
sell them. In Scythia there is a bird, the size of the otis,
which produces two young ones always, in a hare's skin suspended[6] from the top branches of a tree. Pies, when they
have observed a person steadily gazing at their nest, will immediately remove their eggs to another place. This is said to
be accomplished in a truly wonderful manner, by such birds as
have not toes adapted for holding and removing their eggs.
They lay a twig upon two eggs, and then solder them to it by
means of a glutinous matter secreted from their body; after
which, they pass their neck between the eggs, and so forming
an equipoise, convey them to another place.
No less, too, is the shrewdness displayed by those birds which
make their nests upon the ground, because, from the extreme
weight of their body, they are unable to fly aloft. There is a
bird, known as the "merops,"[1] which feeds its parents in
their retreat: the colour of the plumage on the inside is pale,
and azure without, while it is of a somewhat reddish hue at
the extremity of the wings: this bird builds its nest in a hole
which it digs to the depth of six feet.
Partridges[2] fortify their retreat so well with thorns and
shrubs, that it is effectually protected against beasts of prey.
They make a soft bed for their eggs by burying them in the
dust, but do not hatch them where they are laid: that no suspicion may arise from the fact of their being seen repeatedly
about the same spot, they carry them away to some other place.
The females also conceal themselves from their mates, in order
that they may not be delayed in the process of incubation, as
the males, in consequence of the warmth of their passions, are
apt to break the eggs. The males, thus deprived of the females,
fall to fighting among themselves; and it is said that the one
that is conquered, is treated as a female by the other. Trogus
Pompeius tells us that quails and dunghill cocks sometimes do
the same; and adds, that wild partridges, when newly caught,
or when beaten by the others, are trodden promiscuously by
the tame ones. Through the very pugnacity thus inspired by
the strength of their passions, these birds are often taken, as
the leader of the whole covey frequently advances to fight with
the decoy-Bird of the fowler; as soon as he is taken, another and
then another will advance, all of which are caught in their
turn. The females, again, are caught about the pairing season;
for then they will come forward to quarrel with the female
decoy-Bird of the fowler, and so drive her away. Indeed, in
no other animal is there any such susceptibility in the sexual
feelings; if the female only stands opposite to the male, while
the wind is blowing from that direction, she[3] will become impregnated; and during this time she is in a state of the
greatest excitement, the beak being wide open and the tongue
thrust out. The female will conceive also from the action of
the air, as the male flies above her, and very often from only
hearing his voice: indeed, to such a degree does passion get
the better of her affection for her offspring, that although at
the moment she is sitting furtively and in concealment, she
will, if she perceives the female decoy-Bird of the fowler approaching her mate, call him back, and summon him away
from the other, and voluntarily submit to his advances.
Indeed, these birds are often carried away by such frantic
madness, that they will settle, being quite blinded by fear,[4]
upon the very head of the fowler. If he happens to move in
the direction of the nest, the female bird that is sitting will
run and throw herself before his feet, pretending to be over-heavy, or else weak in the loins, and then, suddenly running or flying for a short distance before him, will fall down
as though she had a wing broken, or else her feet; just as he
is about to catch her, she will then take another fly, and so
keep baffling him in his hopes, until she has led him to a considerable distance from her nest. As soon as she is rid of her
fears, and free from all maternal disquietude, she will throw
herself on her back in some furrow, and seizing a clod of
earth with her claws, cover herself all over. It is supposed
that the life of the partridge extends to sixteen years.
Next to the partridge, it is in the pigeon that similar tendencies are to be seen in the same respect: but then, chastity
is especially observed by it, and promiscuous intercourse is a
thing quite unknown. Although inhabiting a domicile in
common with others, they will none of them violate the laws
of conjugal fidelity: not one will desert its nest, unless it is
either widower or widow. Although, too, the males are very
imperious, and sometimes even extremely exacting, the females
put up with it: for in fact, the males sometimes suspect them of
infidelity, though by nature they are incapable of it. On
such occasions the throat of the male seems quite choked with
indignation, and he inflicts severe blows with the beak: and
then afterwards, to make some atonement, he falls to billing, and by way of pressing his amorous solicitations, sidles
round and round the female with his feet. They both of them
manifest an equal degree of affection for their offspring; in-
deed, it is not unfrequently that this is a ground for correction,
in consequence of the female being too slow in going to her
young. When the female is sitting, the male renders her every
attention that can in any way tend to her solace and comfort.
The first thing that they do is to eject from the throat some
saltish earth, which they have digested, into the mouths of
the young ones, in order to prepare them in due time to receive their nutriment. It is a peculiarity of the pigeon and
of the turtle-dove, not to throw back the neck when drinking,
but to take in the water at a long draught, just as beasts of
burden do.
(35.) We read in some authors that the ring-dove lives so
long as thirty years, and sometimes as much as forty, without
any other inconvenience than the extreme length of the claws,
which with them, in fact, is the chief mark of old age; they
can be cut, however, without any danger. The voice of all
these birds is similar, being composed of three notes, and then
a mournful noise at the end. In winter they are silent, and they
only recover their voice in the spring. Nigidius expresses it
as his opinion that the ring-dove will abandon the place, if she
hears her name mentioned under the roof where she is sitting
on her eggs: they hatch their young just after[1] the summer
solstice. Pigeons and turtle-doves live eight years.
(36.) The sparrow, on the other hand, which has an equal
degree of salaciousness, is short-lived in the extreme. It is
said that the male does not live beyond a year; and as a ground
for this belief, it is stated that at the beginning of spring, the
black marks are never to be seen upon the beak which began
to appear in the summer. The females, however, are said
to live somewhat longer.
Pigeons have even a certain appreciation of glory. There
is reason for believing that they are well aware of the colours
of their plumage, and the various shades which it presents, and
even in their very mode of flying they court our applause, as
they cleave the air in every direction. It is, indeed, through
this spirit of ostentation that they are handed over, fast bound
as it were, to the hawk; for from the noise that they make,
which, in fact, is only produced by the flapping of their wings,
their long feathers become twisted and disordered: otherwise,
when they can fly without any impediment, they are far swifter
in their movements than the hawk. The robber, lurking amid
the dense foliage, keeps on the look-out for them, and seizes
them at the very moment that they are indulging their vainglorious self-complaisance.
(37.) It is for this reason that it is necessary to keep along
with the pigeons the bird that is known as the "tinnunculus;"[2] as it protects them, and by its natural superiority
scares away the hawk; so much so, indeed, that the hawk will
vanish at the very sight of it, and the instant it hears its
voice. Hence it is that the pigeons have an especial regard
for this bird; and, it is said, if one of these birds is buried
at each of the four corners of the pigeon-house in pots that
have been newly glazed, the pigeons will not change their
abode-a result which has been obtained by some by cutting a
joint of their wings with an instrument of gold; for if any
other were used, the wounds would be not unattended with
danger.-The pigeon in general may be looked upon as a bird
fond of change; they have the art, too, among themselves of
gaining one another over, and so seducing their companions:
hence it is that we frequently find them return attended by
others which they have enticed away.
In addition to this, pigeons have acted as messengers in
affairs of importance. During the siege of Mutina, Decimus
Brutus, who was in the town, sent despatches to the camp of
the consuls[1] fastened to pigeons' feet. Of what use to Antony
then were his intrenchments, and all the vigilance of the be-
sieging army? his nets, too, which he had spread in the river,
while the messenger of the besieged was cleaving the air?
Many persons have quite a mania for pigeons-Building towns
for them on the top of their roofs, and taking a pleasure in
relating the pedigree and noble origin of each. Of this there
is an ancient instance that is very remarkable; L. Axius, a
Roman of the equestrian order, shortly before the Civil War of
Pompeius, sold a single pair for four hundred denarii, as we learn
from the writings of M. Varro.[2] Countries even have gained
renown for their pigeons; it is thought that those of Campania
attain the largest size.
The flight of the pigeon also leads me to consider that of
other birds as well. All other animals have one determinate
mode of progression, which in every kind is always the same;
it is birds alone that have two modes of moving-the one on
the ground, the other in the air. Some of them walk, such
as the crow, for instance; some hop, as the sparrow and the
blackbird; some, again, run, as the partridge and the woodhen;
while others throw one foot before the other, the stork and the
crane, for instance. Then again, in their flight, some birds expand their wings, and, poising themselves in the air, only move
them from time to time; others move them more frequently,
but then only at the extremities; while others expand them
so as to expose the whole of the side. On the other hand,
some fly with the greater part of the wings kept close to
the side; and some, after striking the air once, others twice,
make their way through it, as though pressing upon it enclosed
beneath their wings; other birds dart aloft in a vertical direction, others horizontally, and others come falling straight
downwards. You would almost think that some had been
hurled upwards with a violent effort, and that others, again, had
fallen straight down from aloft; while others are seen to spring
forward in their flight. Ducks alone, and the other birds of
that kind, in an instant raise themselves aloft, taking a spring
from the spot where they stand straight upwards towards the
heavens; and this they can do from out of the water even;
hence it is that they are the only birds that can make their
escape from the pitfalls which we employ for the capture of
wild beasts.
The vulture and the heavier wild birds can only fly after taking
a run, or else by commencing their flight from an elevated spot.
They use the tail by way of rudder. There are some birds that
are able to see all around them; others, again, have to turn the
neck to do so. Some of them eat what they have seized, holding
it in their feet. Many, as they fly, utter some cry; while on
the other hand, many, in their flight, are silent. Some fly with
the breast half upright, others with it held downwards, others
fly obliquely, or else side-ways, and others following the direction of the bill. Some, again, are borne along with the head
upwards; indeed the fact is, that if we were to see several kinds
at the same moment, we should not suppose that they have to
make their way in the same element.
Those birds which are known as "apodes"[1] fly the most of
all, because they are deprived of the use of their feet. By
some persons they are called "cypseli." They are a species of
swallow which build their nests in the rocks, and are the same
birds that are to be seen everywhere at sea; indeed, however
far a ship may go, however long its voyage, and however great
the distance from land, the apodes never cease to hover around
it. Other birds settle and come to a stand, whereas these know
no repose but in the nest; they are always either on the wing
or else asleep.
The instincts, also, of birds are no less varied, and more especially in relation to their food. "Caprimulgus[1] is the
name of a bird, which is to all appearance a large blackbird;
it thieves by night, as it cannot see during the day. It enters
the folds of the shepherds, and makes straight for the udder
of the she-goat, to suck the milk. Through the injury thus
inflicted the udder shrivels away, and the goat that has been
thus deprived of its milk, is afflicted with incipient blindness.
"Platea"[2] is the name of another, which pounces upon other
birds when they have dived in the sea, and, seizing the head
with its bill, makes them let go their prey. This bird also
swallows and fills itself with shell-fish, shells and all; after
the natural heat of its crop has softened them, it brings them
up again, and then picking out the shells from the rest, selects
the parts that are fit for food.
The farm-yard fowls have also a certain notion of religion;
upon laying an egg they shudder all over, and then shake their
feathers; after which they turn round and purify[1] themselves,
or else hallow[2] themselves and their eggs with some stalk or
other. (42.) The carduelis,[3] which is the very smallest bird
of any, will do what it is bid, not only with the voice but with
the feet as well, and with the beak, which serves it instead of
hands. There is one bird, found in the territory of Arelate, that
imitates the lowing of oxen, from which circumstance it has
received the name of "taurus."[4] In other respects it is of
small size. Another bird, called the "anthus,"[5] imitates the
neighing of the horse; upon being driven from the pasture by
the approach of the horses, it will mimic their voices-and this
is the method it takes of revenging itself.
But above all, there are some birds that can imitate the human voice; the parrot, for instance, which can even converse.
India sends us this bird, which it calls by the name of "sittaces;"[1] the body is green all over, only it is marked with
a ring of red around the neck. It will duly salute an emperor, and pronounce the words it has heard spoken; it is
rendered especially frolicsome under the influence of wine.
Its head is as hard as its beak; and this, when it is being
taught to talk, is beaten with a rod of iron, for otherwise it
is quite insensible to blows. When it lights on the ground it
falls upon its beak, and by resting upon it makes itself all
the lighter for its feet, which are naturally weak.
The magpie is much less famous for its talking qualities than
the parrot, because it does not come from a distance, and yet
it can speak with much more distinctness. These birds love
to hear words spoken which they can utter; and not only do
they learn them, but are pleased at the task; and as they con
them over to themselves with the greatest care and attention,
make no secret of the interest they feel. It is a well-known
fact, that a magpie has died before now, when it has found itself
mastered by a difficult word that it could not pronounce.
Their memory, however, will fail them if they do not from
time to time hear the same word repeated; and while they are
trying to recollect it, they will show the most extravagant joy,
if they happen to hear it. Their appearance, although there
is nothing remarkable in it, is by no means plain; but they
have quite sufficient beauty in their singular ability to imitate
the human speech.
It is said, however, that it is only the kind[1] of pie which
feeds upon acorns that can be taught to speak; and that
among these, those which[2] have five toes on each foot can be
taught with the greatest facility; but in their case even, only
during the first two years of their life. The magpie has a
broader tongue than is usual with most other birds; which
is the case also with all the other birds that can imitate the
human voice; although some individuals of almost every kind
have the faculty of doing so.
Agrippina, the wife of Claudius Csar, had a thrush that
could imitate human speech, a thing that was never known
before. At the moment that I am writing this, the young
Csars[3] have a starling and some nightingales that are being
taught to talk in Greek and Latin; besides which, they are
studying their task the whole day, continually repeating the
new words that they have learnt, and giving utterance to
phrases even of considerable length. Birds are taught to
talk in a retired spot, and where no other voice can be heard,
so as to interfere with their lesson; a person sits by them, and
continually repeats the words he wishes them to learn, while
at the same time he encourages them by giving them food.
Let us do justice, also, to the raven, whose merits have been
attested not only by the sentiments of the Roman people, but
by the strong expression, also, of their indignation. In the
reign of Tiberius, one of a brood of ravens that had bred on
the top of the temple of Castor,[1] happened to fly into a shoemaker's shop that stood opposite: upon which, from a feeling
of religious veneration, it was looked upon as doubly recommended by the owner of the place. The bird, having been
taught to speak at an early age, used every morning to fly to
the Rostra, which look towards the Forum; here, addressing
each by his name, it would salute Tiberius, and then the
Csars[2] Germanicus and Drusus, after which it would proceed to greet the Roman populace as they passed, and then return to the shop: for several years it was remarkable for the
constancy of its attendance. The owner of another shoemaker's
shop in the neighbourhood, in a sudden fit of anger killed the
bird, enraged, as he would have had it appear, because with its
ordure it had soiled some shoes of his. Upon this, there was
such rage manifested by the multitude, that he was at once
driven from that part of the city, and soon after put to death.
The funeral, too, of the bird was celebrated with almost endless obsequies; the body was placed upon a litter carried upon
the shoulders of two thiopians, preceded by a piper, and
borne to the pile with garlands of every size and description.
The pile was erected on the right-hand side of the Appian
Way, at the second milestone from the City, in the field gene-
rally known as the "field of Rediculus."[3] Thus did the rare
talent of a bird appear a sufficient ground to the Roman people
for honouring it with funeral obsequies, as well as for inflicting
punishment on a Roman citizen; and that, too, in a city in
which no such crowds had ever escorted the funeral of any one
out of the whole number of its distinguished men, and where
no one had been found to avenge the death of Scipio milianus,[4] the man who had destroyed Carthage and Numantia.
This event happened in the consulship of M. Servilius and
Caius Cestius, on the fifth day[5] before the calends of April.
At the present day also, the moment that I am writing this,
there is in the city of Rome a crow which belongs to a Roman
of equestrian rank, and was brought from Btica. In the first
place, it is remarkable[6] for its colour, which is of the deepest
black, and at the same time it is able to pronounce several
connected words, while it is repeatedly learning fresh ones.
Recently, too, there has been a story told about Craterus, surnamed Monoceros,[7] in Erizena,[8] a country of Asia, who was
in the habit of hunting with the assistance of ravens, and used
to carry them into the woods, perched on the tuft of his helmet and on his shoulders. The birds used to keep on the watch
for game, and raise it; and by training he had brought this art
to such a pitch of perfection, that even the wild ravens would
attend him in a similar manner when he went out. Some
authors have thought the following circumstance deserving of
remembrance:-A crow that was thirsty was seen heaping
stones into the urn on a monument, in which there was some
rain-water which it could not reach: and so, being afraid to
go down to the water, by thus accumulating the stones, it
caused as much water to come within its reach as was necessary
to satisfy its thirst.
Nor yet must I pass by the birds[1] of Diomedes in silence.
Juba calls these birds "cataract," and says that they have
teeth and eyes of a fiery colour, while the rest of the body is
white: that they always have two chiefs, the one to lead the
main body, the other to take charge of the rear; that they excavate holes with their bills, and then cover them with hurdles,
which they cover again with the earth that has been thus
thrown up; that it is in these places they hatch their young;
that each of these holes has two outlets; that one of them looks
towards the east, and that by it they go forth to feed, returning by the one which looks towards the west; and that when
about to ease themselves, they always take to the wing, and fly
against the wind. In one spot only throughout the whole
earth are these birds to be seen, in the island, namely, which
we have mentioned[2] as famous for the tomb and shrine of
Diomedes, lying over against the coast of Apulia: they bear
a strong resemblance to the coot. When strangers who are
barbarians arrive on that island, they pursue them with loud
and clamorous cries, and only show courtesy to Greeks by
birth; seeming thereby, with a wonderful discernment, to pay
respect to them as the fellow-countrymen of Diomedes.
Every day they fill their throats, and cover their feathers, with
water, and so wash and purify the temple there. From this
circumstance arises the fable[3] that the companions of Diomedes
were metamorphosed into these birds.
We ought not to omit, while we are speaking of instincts,
that among birds the swallow[1] is quite incapable of being
taught, and among land animals the mouse; while on the other
hand, the elephant does what it is ordered, the lion submits to
the yoke, and the sea-calf and many kinds of fishes are capable of being tamed.
Birds drink by suction; those which have a long neck taking
their drink in a succession of draughts, and throwing the head
back, as though they were pouring the water down the
throat. The porphyrio[1] is the only bird that seems to bite at
the water as it drinks. The same bird has also other peculiarities of its own; for it will every now and then dip its food
in the water, and then lift it with its foot to its bill, using
it as a hand. Those that are the most esteemed are found in
Commagene. They have beaks and very long legs, of a red
colour.
There are the same characteristics in the hmatopous[1] also,
a bird of much smaller size, although standing as high on the
legs. It is a native of Egypt, and has three toes on each foot;
flies[2] forming its principal food. If brought to Italy, it survives for a few days only.
All the heavy birds are frugivorous; while those with a
higher flight feed upon flesh only. Among the aquatic birds,
the divers[1] are in the habit of devouring what the other birds
have disgorged.
The pelican is similar in appearance to the swan, and it
would be thought that there was no difference between them
whatever, were it not for the fact that under the throat there
is a sort of second crop, as it were. It is in this that the everinsatiate animal stows everything away, so much so, that the
capacity of this pouch is quite astonishing. After having
finished its search for prey, it discharges bit by bit what it has
thus stowed away, and reconveys it by a sort of ruminating
process into its real stomach. The part of Gallia that lies
nearest to the Northern Ocean produces this bird.
Apicius, that very deepest whirlpool of all our epicures, has
informed us that the tongue of the phnicopterus[1] is of the
most exquisite flavour. The attagen,[2] also, of Ionia is a famous
bird; but although it has a voice at other times, it is mute in
captivity. It was formerly[3] reckoned among the rare birds,
but at the present day it is found in Gallia, Spain, and in the
Alps even; which is also the case with the phalacrocorax,[4] a
bird peculiar to the Balearic Isles, as the pyrrhocorax,[5] a black
bird with a yellow bill, is to the Alps, and the lagopus,[6] which
is esteemed for its excellent flavour. This last bird derives
its name from its feet, which are covered, as it were, with the
fur of a hare, the rest of the body being white, and the size of
a pigeon. It is not an easy matter to taste it out of its native
country, as it never becomes domesticated, and when dead it
quickly spoils.
There is another[7] bird also, which has the same name, and
only differs from the quail in size; it is of a saffron colour,
and is most delicate eating. Egnatius Calvinus, who was prefect there, pretends that he has seen[8] in the Alps the ibis also,
a bird that is peculiar to Egypt.
During the civil wars that took place at Bebriacum, beyond
the river Padus, the "new birds"[1] were introduced into Italy
-for by that name they are still known. They resemble the
thrush in appearance, are a little smaller than the pigeon in
size, and of an agreeable flavour. The Balearic islands also
send us a porphyrio,[2] that is superior to the one previously
mentioned. There the buteo, a kind of hawk, is held in high
esteem for the table, as also the vipio,[3] the name given to a
small kind of crane.
I look upon the birds as fabulous which are called "pegasi,"
and are said to have a horse's head; as also the griffons, with
long ears and a hooked beak. The former are said to be natives of Scythia,[1] the latter of thiopia. The same is my
opinion, also, as to the tragopan;[2] many writers, however,
assert that it is larger than the eagle, has curved horns on the
temples, and a plumage of iron colour, with the exception of
the head, which is purple. Nor yet do the sirens[3] obtain any
greater credit with me, although Dinon, the father of Clearchus,
a celebrated writer, asserts that they exist in India, and that
they charm men by their song, and, having first lulled them to
sleep, tear them to pieces. The person, however, who may
think fit to believe in these tales, may probably not refuse to
believe also that dragons licked the ears of Melampodes, and
bestowed upon him the power of understanding the language
of birds; as also what Democritus says, when he gives the
names of certain birds, by the mixture of whose blood a serpent is produced, the person who eats of which will be able
to understand the language of birds; as well as the statements
which the same writer makes relative to one bird in particular,
known as the "galerita,"[4]-indeed, the science of augury is
already too much involved in embarrassing questions, without
these fanciful reveries.
There is a kind of bird spoken of by Homer as the "scops:"[5]
but I cannot very easily comprehend the grotesque movements
which many persons have attributed to it, when the fowler is
laying snares for it; nor, indeed, is it a bird that is any longer
known to exist. It will be better, therefore, to confine my relation to those the existence of which is generally admitted.
The first person who invented aviaries for the reception of